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EPHEMERA. 


'  Ludcrc  qui  nescit,  campestribus  abstlnet  armis, 
Indoctus-que  pilae  disci-ve  trochi-vc  quiescit, 
Ne  spissse  risum  tollant  impune  coronas : 
Qui  nescit,  versus  tamen  audet  flngere !" 

HORACE. 

'  Now  they  that  like  it  may;  the  rest  may  choose." 

GEO.  WITHER. 


BOSTON: 
TICKNOR,    REED,    AND    FIELDS. 

MDCCCLII. 


STACY  AND  R1C1IAKDSOX,    FRINTEBS,    BOSTON. 


P  R  E  F  A  C  E  . 


Tins    volume   of  Verse    is,    by    both    its    Writers, 
respectfully  submitted. 

G.    E.     R. 
J.    H.    AV. 

Boston,  November,  1852. 


CONTENTS. 


Page 

ADDRESS   TO    THE  MERMAID, 9 

A   SERENADE, 16 

THE    CHARCOAL   VENDOR, 18 

THE    LYRE    OF   LOVE, 20 

A   DOG-GEREL, 22 

WED  NOT   FOR  GOLD, 27 

AN   ANSWER  TO   AN   INVITATION   TO   DINE,            ...  31 

LONG   AGO, 35 

THE   BLOOMER   COSTUME, 37 

A   FAREWELL, 42 

THE   REASON   WHY, 45 

"  I    BRING   THEE,   LOVE,   NO   COSTLY   OEMS,"                 .           .  47 

A   SMELL  OF   THE   HAWTHORN, 49 

TO-DAY, 54 

TO    A    CLASSMATE, 50 


VI  C  O  X  T  K  X  T  8  . 

Pano 

FALSE    CHARITY, t>  1 

rn.CIIKRRIMA, <'*7 

THE  TKAKS  OF  TIIK  VINE 08 

A  HEXEFICIAL  NAP, 71 

STRINC;  TIME.             74 

TO  SYLVIA,            70 

THE    FORSAKEN, 7'.l 

TO    AX    EDITOR.        .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .81 

''I    SAW    HER    FIRST    AMI!"    A    T1IUOXG,"                ...  84 

TO , 87 

"NEVER    DESPAIR,"                 S'J 

ROMEO    MONTAGUE    TO    JULIET    CAPULET,                  .            .            .  '.)! 

MAID    OF    THE    SOfTH.          .......  95 

TO    THE    CITT    OF    COLOGNE, '.17 

THE    HLIXD    HOY    TO    HIS    1IROTHEK    IX    (  HfRfll,       .            .  1(10 

STANZAS, 101 

THE  FUTURE. 104 

TO  A  BUTTERFLY  AT  SEA.  109 


EPHEMERA. 


EPHEMERA. 


"Thou  comest  in  such  a  questionable  shape 
That  I  will  speak  to  thee." 


MYSTEKIOUS  HYBRID  !     Near  the  Fejee  Isles 
You  were  entrapped,  they  say,  one  Summer's  eve, 

When,  unsuspicious  of  the  seaman's  wiles, 

You  sweetly  sang  —  but  this  I  can 't  believe  — 

AVith  execution  that  outri  vailed  GUI  si, 

Arias  from  operas  by  no  means  easy. 


10  ADDKESS    TO    THE    MERMAID. 

Strange  denizen  of  somewhere  in  the  deep. 
You  come  to  us  so  very  well  preserved 

That  we  might  think  you  in  the  tranquil  sleep 
Your  innocence  and  beauty  well  deserved  — 

Were  not  your  graceful  figure  so  erect ; 

And  what  from  Mermaids  could  we  not  expect  ? 


But  there's  no  power  now  in  your  dark  eyes 
To  look  with  scorn  upon  the  dandy's  suit,  — 

You  answer  not  to  beauty's  smiles  and  sighs ; 

Then  must  that  heart  be  stilled,  that  tongue  be  mute 

And  this  glass  case,  excluding  you  from  air, 

Proves  the  sad  fact  that  life  is  absent  there. 


I'd  promised  me  a  very  pleasant  task, 

And  hoped  to  pass  the  evening  tete-a-tete  ; 

There's  many  a  question  that  I  wished  to  ask, 
Concerning  all  the  customs  of  your  state,  — 

I'm  getting  up  a  book,  and  looked  to  you 

For  stores  of  information  stranjje  and  new. 


ADDRESS    TO    THE    MERMAID.  11 

I  wished  to  know  if  Mermaids  had  a  king, 
Or  chose  a  president  each  year  or  two  — 

Had  stringent  laws,  —  for  that's  the  sort  of  thing 
To  make  the  populace  their  duty  do;  — 

Or  lived  together  in  a  crazed  community, 

Where  each  did  as  he  listed,  with  impunity;  — 


And  all  that  happens  in  those  coral  groves 
We  're  told  you  dwell  among,  i'ar  down  below ; 

If  you  write  tender  verses  to  your  loves,  — 

If  there's  a  place  where  naughty  Mermaids  go, — 

What  time  you  put  the  little  ones  to  bed, — 

And  if  they  sing  such  songs  as  "  Uncle  Ned." 


If  you  have  Mermaid  lawyers  and  divines, 
And  if  the  last  say  everything  is  vanity ; 

Whether  you  speculate  in  copper  mines,  — 
And  are  not  Mermaids  subject  to  insanity ; 

If  pure  salt  water  's  all  you  have  to  drink, 

And  if  your  tails  do  n't  sometimes  get  a  kink. 


12          ADDRESS  TO  THE  MERMAID. 

Fond  of  the  water  you  must  surely  be, 
But  do  you  have  regattas  every  year? 

Do  you  e'er  navigate  the  briny  sea 

In  sea-weed  barks,  —  or  use  your  tails  to  steer 

Some  seooped-out  tortoise  shells  from  grot  to  grot ; 

And  is  there  any  one  who  owns  a  yacht  ? 

Are  any  of  the  Mermaids  politicians?  — 
What's  their  opinion  of  a  certain  letter? 

Do  you  not  find,  if  you  employ  physicians, 

That  of  their  stuff  the  less  you  take  the  better 

Your  health  becomes?     In  fact,  I'm  very  sure 

You  must  be  patrons  of  the  "  Water  Cure." 

Do  you  prohibit  smoking  in  the  streets  ? 

Do  you  confine  the  voting  to  the  males  ? 
What  is  the  salutation  when  one  meets 

Another  Mermaid  ?  —  Do  you  shake  your  tails  ? 
Is  charity  much  practised  in  the  sea,  — 
Or  do  you  fancy  scandal  with  your  tea  ? 


ADDRESS    TO    THE    MERMAID.  13 

Have  you  the  Magazines  and  the  Reviews  ? 

Do  any  of  your  spinsters  have  the  vapors  ? 
How  soon  do  you  obtain  the  steamers'  news  ? 

And  pray,  do  all  the  Mermaids  take  the  papers  ? 
Do  your  young  men  do  military  duty,  — 
And  what 's  the  customary  price  of  putty  ? 

But  this  is  useless,  —  the  grim  tyrant,  Death, 
Has  placed  his  icy  hand  upon  your  brow ; 

Had  I  been  near,  to  catch  your  parting  breath, 
(It's  very  safe  for  me  to  say  so,  now,) 

I  might  have  got  a  mass  of  information 

That  now  is  lost  to  me  and  to  the  nation. 


I  grieve  to  think  some  infidels  there  be 

Who  smile  in  scorn  whene'er  your  name  they  hear,- 
Make  it  a  point  to  disbelieve  in  thee,  — 

And  dare  to  speak  with  supercilious  sneer, 
And  say  you  are  a  wondrous  incongruity  — 
A  specimen  of  BARNUM'S  ingenuity. 


14  ADDRESS    TO    THE    MERMAID. 

Shame  on  that  stupid,  sacrilegious  ass. 
Who,  thinking  no  avenger  would  appear, 

Raised  from  your  figure  the  protecting  glass, 
And  placed  u  pen  behind  your  well-shaped  ear ! 

And  wishing  your  chaste  beauty  more  to  mar, 

Thrust  'twixt  your  parted  lips  a  huge  cigar ! 


'Tis  difficult  my  feelings  to  control, 

Whene'er  I  dwell  upon  this  well-known  fact ; 
The  wretch  must  have  an  unbelieving  soul, — 

Would  I  had  caught  him  in  the  very  act, 
I  would  have  brained  the  dull,  unfeeling  fool, 
Who  dared  to  hold  you  up  to  ridicule. 


As  for  myself,  I  'm  willing  to  believe 
In  all  that  travellers  delight  to  tell ; 

I  think  the  mesmerizers  don't  deceive, 

I  frown  on  those  who  say  that  you  're  a  "  sell ;" 

I  think  all  the  magicians  superhuman, 

And  will  believe  the  Giantess  a  woman. 


ADDRESS    TO    THE    MERMAID.  15 

I  place  a  trust  in  the  Aerial  Ship, 

My  love  for  the  Hydrarchos  is  quite  fervent,  — 
I  've  cruised  about  our  coast  to  get  a  peep 

At  my  much  slighted  friend,  the  great  Sea  Serpent; 
A  man  can 't  put  himself  to  nobler  uses 
Than  taking  sides  with  those  the  world  abuses. 


And  now,  farewell !     There 's  more  that  I  could  say, 
For  my  regard  gets  every  moment  stronger, 

But  I  '11  postpone  it  till  some  other  day,  — 
This  won 't  be  read  if  it  is  any  longer,  — 

You  yet  shall  triumph  o'er  the  sceptic's  laugh, 

Marvellous  specimen  of  half  and  half! 


A    SERENADE. 


THE  silver  orb  of  night 
Is  shining  mild  above, 
A  fitting  torch  to  light 
The  holy  hour  of  love. 

Then,  dearest,  wake ! 

For  o'er  the  lake 
Thy  lover  flies  to  meet  thee,  — 

While  to  his  oar 

The  answering  shore 
Sends  echo  back  to  greet  thee. 


List !  how  amid  the  trees 
In  heavenly  murmur  sighs 

The  love  song  of  the  breeze, 
And  every  leaf  replies. 


A     SERENADE.  17 

Then,  love,  let  sleep 

No  longer  keep 
Those  bright  eyes  from  thy  lover,  — 

But  lend  their  light 

To  glad  the  night, 
Ere  night's  sweet  reign  is  over. 

List !  how  upon  the  strand 

The  rippling  wavelets  break  ; 
They  whisper  to  the  land 
The  love  tale  of  the  lake. 

An  hour  like  this 

Is  made  for  bliss, 
Oh,  leave  me  not  forsaken,  — 

Below,  above, 

All,  all  is  love, 
Then  'waken,  love,  awaken  ! 


THE    CHARCOAL    VENDOR. 


"  I'crhaps,  and  then  again  perhaps  not." 

Familiar  Suying. 


I  MKET  a  fellow  often  in  my  way, 

Urging  a  horse  and  wagon  through  the  streets, 
And  .shouting  "  Charcoal!"  to  each  one  he  meets 

I  came  upon  him  only  yesterday, 

But  did  not  feel  so  much  disposed  to  smile 

At  his  crocked  features  and  his  brimless  "  tile  " 

As  is  my  wont ;  the  fact  is.  I  had  dined 

Extremely  well,  and  felt  benign  and  kind. 
Thought  I,  "That  fellow  in  those  shabby  clothes, 

Driving  all  day  that  shapeless  horse  and  cart, 

Owes  nothing  to  the  tailor's  magic  art, 

Like  all  our  gallant,  well-dressed  city  beaux ; 


THE    CHARCOAL    VENDOR.  19 

And  would  that  all  of  us,  like  him,  could  say 
Each  night,  that  our  pursuits  throughout  the  day 
Had  left  no  tarnish  harder  to  erase 
Than  what  he  has  upon  his  hands  and  lace ! 
There  's  not  a  spot  of  black  upon  his  heart, 
It 's  all  upon  his  face  and  hands  and  cart,  — 
And  he  may  stand  a  better  chance  to  go 
To  Heaven  than  I,  or  many  that  I  know." 

liut  this  was  Fancy's  work,  and  we, 

Though  better  dressed,  perchance,  are  just  as  good  as  he. 


THE    LYRE    OF     LOVE. 


I  STRIVE  to  sing  of  many  a  theme, 
As  o'er  the  strings  my  fingers  move, 

But  hushed  and  silent  is  the  stream 
Of  music,  till  my  song  is  Love. 

To  lay  of  Sorrow  first  I  struck 

The  lyre  that  once  breathed  music  sweet, 
Each  chord,  when  touched,  that  instant  broke, — 

It  would  not  e'en  one  note  repeat. 

Ambition  next  for  theme  I  chose, 

But  silent  still  the  lyre  remained ; 
It  seemed  as  if  in  Death's  repose 

Each  breathless  sound  and  chord  was  chained. 


THE    LYRE    OF    LOVE.  21 

I  '11  sing  of  Friendship,  then  I  said, 

This  theme  at  least  will  break  the  charm ; 

The  lyre  at  Friendship's  call  was  dead,  — 
E'en  this  the  spell  could  not  disarm. 

Joy!     Thou  shalt  wake  my  song,  I  cried, — 

In  vain  !  no  melody  was  there  ; 
The  stubborn  harp  a  moment  sighed, 

Then  ceased,  as  if  in  mute  despair. 

One  effort  more,  —  of  Love  I  '11  sing, 

Again  the  tuneless  lyre  I'll  try  ; 
I  took  the  harp,  I  touched  the  string, 

Across  the  wires  my  fingers  fly  ; 

And  then  in  wild,  ecstatic  fire, 

The  music  ran  the  chords  along, 
I  whispered  as  I  kissed  the  lyre, 

Henceforth  I'll  sing  no  other  song. 


A    DOG-GEREL. 


SHOWIM;    now  A    CERTAIN   STUIX<;ENT    HKC.LT.ATION 

1IECAMK     KKI'KAI.ED. 


The  Councilman  to  l>ed  haokgone. 

Sated  witli  civic  glory. 
To  think  upon  his  mighty  deeds 

That  still  will  live  in  story  ; 
But  scarcely  had  his  eyelids  closed, 

And  sleep  in  fetters  hound  him, 
When  ghosts  of  many  murdered  dogs 
Appeared  and  danced  around  him, 

Howling,  "  O  thou  Councilman  ! 
Sanguinary  Councilman  ! 
Corpses  we, 
Slain  by  thee ! 
Bloody-minded  Councilman  !" 


A    DOG-GEREL.  23 

The  City  Father  raised  his  head, 

Waked  by  this  dismal  ditty, 
And  saw  the  ghosts  around  his  bed  — 

The  "  slaughtered  dogs'  Committee  " — 
Hounds,  terriers,  mastiffs,  spaniels,  curs,  — 

A  mangled,  motley  crew,  — 
Who  yelped  and  snarled  about  his  ears, 
"  We  owe  our  deaths  to  you  ! 

O  them  Councilman  ! 
Dog  law  making  Councilman  ! 
Th'  accursed  decree 
Was  framed  by  thee  ! 
Exterminating  Councilman  !' 


The  chairman  of  the  ghosts  then  spoke, 
(A  splendid  Saint  Bernard, 

Whom  Irish  boys  had  stoned  to  death, 

In  the  Eleventh  Ward,) 
"  Of  victims  to  thy  law,  stern  man, 
Here's  but  a  trifling  part ; 


24  A    DOG-OEKEL. 

Sent  by  the  murdered  crowd,  we  come 
To  mollify  your  heart. 

()  thou  Councilman  I 
Sapient  Common  Councilman ! 
"Pis  all  thy  work, 
Thou  barbarous  Turk ! 
Dog-killing  Common  Councilman  ! 

'•  The  sands  of  life  for  us  have  run, 

Death's  chains  will  ever  bind  us, 
But  we  can't  rest  till  something's  done 

For  those  we  Ye  left  behind  us  ; 
The  vital  spark  1'rom  us  has  fled, 
We  roam  the  streets  no  more, 
But  every  night  will  visit  you, 
Till  you  repeal  the  law. 

Come,  now,  Councilman, 
Be  a  noble  Councilman, 
All  scorn  defy, 
And  remedy 
Your  error,  Common  Councilman." 


A     DOG-GEREL.  25 

Then  spake  that  conscience-stricken  man, 
"I  see  I've  been  to  blame, 
But  all  the  dogs  that  yet  survive 

Shall  live  to  bless  my  name ; 
The  sad  effect  of  what  I've  done 

I  view  with  heartfelt  sorrow, 
And  promise  that  th'  obnoxious  law 
Shall  be  repealed  to-morrow,  — 
For  I'm  a  Councilman, 
An  honest  Common  Councilman  ; 
'T  is  my  delight 
To  act  upright, 
And  be  an  honest  Councilman." 


Then  smiled  those  ghastly  corpses  all, 
And  clapping  their  fore  paws,   . 

Barked  out  "  God  bless  you  !  Councilman, 
The  city,  and  its  laws  ; 

May  you  attain,  'mong  civic  digs., 
The  highest  of  positions." 


26  A     DOG-GKRKL. 

Then  straightway  vanished  into  air 
Those  canine  apparitions, 

Singing  "  Good-bye  !  Councilman, 
llepentant  Common  Councilman ! 
Dogs  will  soon 
Change  their  tune, 
And  bless  tlue  Common  Councilman." 


WED    NOT    FOR    GOLD. 


WOULDST  wed  for  gold?     Seek  yonder  palace-gate, 
Where  liveried  menials  at  the  entrance  wait ; 
They  guard  the  porch  'gainst  all  of  low  degree, 
But  thou,  unseen,  shalt  enter  there  with  me, 
And  learn  a  lesson  from  a  gilded  page : 
Too  true  the  tale  it  tells,  from  age  to  age, 
Of  wealth  and  misery  joining  hand  in  hand. 
See  yonder  lady  fair ;  wouldst  understand 
Why  on  her  youthful  brow  that  shadow  rests  ? 
Can  it  be  true  that  aught  of  grief  molests 
One  who  is  mistress  of  a  home  like  this  ? 
What !  can  not  riches  purchase  earthly  bliss  ? 
Fool !  list  the  moral  that  this  scene  imparts  : 
She  purchased  wealth — with  what? — two  broken  hearts! 


28  WED     NOT     FOR     GOLD. 

Scarce  one  short  year  ago,  a  youthful  pair 

Plighted  their  troth,  and  swore  through  life  to  share, 

Whether  for  weal  or  woe,  a  mutual  lot ; 

But  wealth  came  limping  by,  and  she  forgot 

Her  faith,  his  love  ;  alas  !  poor  girl,  she  sold 

His  earthly  happiness,  her  Heaven,  for  gold  ! 

Where  is  he  now,  that  poor  heart-broken  boy  ? 

When  he  beheld  his  all  of  earthly  joy 

Gone,  gone  for  ever  with  the  rich  man's  bride,  — 

A  tomb-stone  tells  the  mournful  tale  —  "  he  died." 

And  is  she  happy  now  ?     No  ;  every  scene 

She  looks  upon  but  tells  what  might  have  been. 

Though  decked  in  costly  silks  and  satins  rare, 

Though  priceless  jewels  glitter  in  her  hair, 

Though  blessed  with  every  thing  that  wealth  can  buy, 

Still,  is  she  happy  ?     List  the  stifled  sigh 

Bursting  unbidden  from  her  aching  breast ! 

It  sometimes  finds  a  voice,  though  oft  repressed ; 

And  in  that  sigh  a  truthful  tale  is  told : 

Go,  write  it  on  thy  heart,  then  wed  for  gold  ! 


WED     NOT     FOR     GOLD.  29 

Wouldst  wed  for  gold  ?     Seek  yonder  humble  cot : 
There  wealth  and  misery  are  alike  forgot ; 
Wide  open  stands  the  hospitable  door, 
And  welcome  he  who  enters,  rich  or  poor ; 
Contentment  smiles  around  with  homely  grace ; 
Here  jaundiced  avarice  with  saffron  face 
Would  e'en  forget  his  hoards  of  yellow  dust. 
And  give  his  millions,  could  he  share  the  crust 
That  honest  labor  renders  ever  sweet, 
(Not  always  such  the  luxuries  of  the  great). 
See  from  his  daily  toil  the  cotter  come : 
Full  well  he  knows  the  loved  one  waits  him  home ; 
Little  cares  he  to  share  the  rich  man's  part, 
His  mine  of  wealth  is  one  true  woman's  heart ; 
Like  those  twin  stars  that  mariners  descry 
When  looking  Heavenward  in  the  northern  sky, 
They  seek  the  Polar  Star  to  track  their  way 
O'er  pathless  seas,  but,  lest  they  wandering  stray, 
And  choose  some  other  orb,  the  Pointers  guide 
To  it  alone,  heedless  of  all  beside ; 


30  WED     NOT     FOR     GOLD. 

Revolving  ever,  still  they  never  rove 

From  out  the  path  that  guards  the  star  they  love. 

So  woman's  rich  affections,  pure  and  true, 

Once  gained,  will  evej>fondly  cling  to  you, 

Though  all  else  change.     Let  good  or  ill  betide, 

Faint  not,  blest  man,  an  angel 's  at  thy  side  ! 

Constant  in  death,  she  whispering  points  above  : 

"  Dearest,  we  '11  meet  in  Heaven,  for  Heaven  is  love, 

Think  well  on  this,  ye  fools  that  seek  to  gain 

A  fleeting  pleasure  for  an  age  of  pain  ! 

'T  is  short-lived  pleasure  wealth  alone  can  give, 

And  happier  far,  methinks,  't  would  be  to  live 

Poor  but  contented.     Now  my  tale  is  told  ; 

Go,  write  it  on  thy  heart,  then  wed  for  gold  ! 


AN    ANSWER    TO    AN    INVITATION 
TO    DINE. 


-"cui  corpus  porrigitur." 

VIRGIL. 


I  'VE  just  received  your  invitation 

To  a  rare  banquet,  thus  you  yclept  it^ 
And  much  regret  my  situation 

Is  such  that  I  cannot  accept  it ;  — 

f 
No  dining  out  is  there  for  me  now, 

I  'm  very  ill,  and  that 's  the  reason  ; 
And  could  you  but  look  in  you  'd  see  now 
That  I  am  laid  up  for  a  season. 

In  payment  for  my  sins  I  've  caught  a 
Distressing  cold,  and  am  in  bed, 

With  napkins  wet  with  rum  and  water 
Twisted  around  mv  aching  head. 


32  ANSWER    TO    AN    INVITATION    TO    DINK. 

It  seems  as  if  that  nameless  Gent., 
With  cloven  foot  and  sable  coat, 

On  my  annihilation  bent, 

Had  nxed  his  talons  in  my  throat. 

My  voice,  whose  tones  so  deep  and  pleasant 

Have  been  accustomed  to  delight  you, 
Has  faded  out,  and  were  you  present 

I  could  not  say  what  now  I  write  you. 
You  '11  find  it  not  an  easy  task 

Deciphering  this  wretched  scrawl, 
But  he  can  some  indulgence  ask 

Who  writes  in  bed  against  the  wall. 

So  when  you  read  this  lucubration, 

I  must  request  you  '11  not  be  critical ; 
Consider  that  my  situation 

Is  not  by  any  means  poetical. 
A  blister  that  could  draw  a  wagon 

Usurps  possession  of  my  chest.  — 
In  dreams  I  fancy  that  a  dragon 

Is  breathing  lire  on  inv  breast. 


ANSWER    TO    AN    INVITATION"    TO    DINE.  33 

I'm  being  now,  like  gold,  refined 

"With  very  fierce  and  raging  fires, 
But  not  exactly  of  the  kind 

That  wit  or  verse-making  inspires. 
With  not  a  thing  to  eat  or  drink, 

One  can 't  be  very  bright  or  merry, 
I  'd  feel  just  twice  as  well,  I  think, 

If  I  could  have  a  glass  of  Sherry. 

T  '11  own  the  wine  cup  I  have  drained 

Since  I  've  been  stretched  here  on  my  back, 
But  then  the  wine  the  cup  contained 

Is  known  as  Wine  of  Ipecac ; 
And  that,  my  candid  mind  confesses,  — 

A  fact  I  feel  convinced  that  you  know,  — 
Is  not  so  welcome  at  one's  messes 

As  that  which  bears  the  brand  of  "  Juno." 

Just  as  the  clock  is  striking  five 

I  '11  know  you  're  sitting  down  to  dinner, 

And  at  that  time,  if  I  'in  alive, 

I'll  pledge  you  in  a  draught  of  Senna: 


34  ANSWER    TO    AX    INVITATION    TO    DINE. 

And  sigh  to  lose  those  scintillations 
From  wit  that  never  yet  was  spiteful, 

And  all  your  brilliant  coruscations 
Of  fancy  that  are  so  delightful. 

Please  give  your  guests  to  understand 

I  'd  gladly  meet  them  at  that  hour, 
Were  not  misfortune's  heavy  hand 

Upon  me  with  resistless  power  ; 
And  though  "  in  propria  persona  " 

To  visit  them  I  '11  not  be  able, 
My  spirit  yet  may  have  the  honor 

To  come  and  rap  upon  the  table. 

When  rising  from  the  board  the  crowd  arc 

"  Vino  cibo-que"  quite  "  gravatus,'' 
I  shall  be  taking  Dover's  powder 

And  mourning  my  unhappy  "status." 
Then  let  me  hope  you  all  will  think 

Of  him  who  pens  this  trifling  stanza, 
And  filling  up  your  glasses  drink 

Confusion  to  the  Influenza! 


LONG     AGO. 


DOST  thou  remember,  lady  fair, 

The  willow  by  the  river  side  ? 
One  eve  we  sat  together  there 

Thou  promised  to  become  my  bride. 
But  stay,  fair  lady,  speak  it  not,  — 

Thine  answer  I  already  know ; 
Those  happy  hours  are  all  forgot, 

For  it  was  very  long  ago. 

Dost  call  to  mind  the  grassy  lane, 
All  hidden  in  the  little  grove,  — 

Can  memory  bi-ing  it  back  again? 
'T  was  there  I  told  thec  of  my  love ! 


36  LONG    AGO. 

Thy  willing  hand  was  clasped  in  mine. 
Thy  lips,  —  say,  did  they  answer  No  ? 

'Tis  past!  and  why  should  I  repine, — 
For  it  was  very  long  ago. 

Dost  call  to  raind  the  trembling  kiss 

I  pressed  upon  thy  burning  cheek? 
Hast  thou  forgot  the  words  of  bliss 

Thy  sweet  and  gentle  voice  did  speak  ? 
Nay,  lady,  do  not  weep  !     Thy  tears 

Have  now  no  right  for  me  to  flow. 
I  thought  to  share  thy  hopes  and  fears,  — 

lint  it  was  very  long  ago. 

The  willow  by  the  stream  is  dead, 

The  grassy  lane,  the  grove,  both  gone,  - 
And  thou  art  to  another  wed ! 

I  wander  through  the  world  alone, 
Yet  oft  unbidden  bursts  a  sigh, 

And  down  my  cheeks  in  sorrow  How 
The  tears  I  weep  for  days  gone  by, 

And  memories  of  long  a»o. 


THE    BLOOMER    COSTUME. 


"  Tlio  gown?    Why,  aye;  —  conic,  tailor,  let  us  see  it. 
O  mercy,  God !  —  What  masking  stuft'  is  here  V" 

TAMING  THE  SHREW. 


Some  time  ago  — 

'Tis  not  important  any  one  should  know 
Exactly  to  a  month,  week,  day,  or  minute, 

How  long  ago ; 

Besides,  I  do  n't  like  publicly  to  state 
How  long  I  've  been  contending  against  Fate, 
Striving  for  glory  that  declines  to  come ; 
I  therefore  choose 

To  use  — 
Because  it  notes  a  number  indeterminate  — 

The  word  that  T  commenced  with  —  Some 


38  THE    KLOOMKR     COSTUME. 

"Well,  then,  I  '11  say  —  sonic  time  ago, 

Not 
"  Ere  heaving  bellows  learned  to  blow," 

But 

Between  that  and  the  present  time 
Of  writing  this  agreeable  rhyme, — 

When  I  was  at  that  tender  age 
When  children  are  "by  Nature's  kindly  law, 
1'leased  with  a  rattle,  tickled  with  a  straw." 

(See  Pope  —  but  I  forget  the  page,) 
I  used  to  be  delighted  to  peruse 
The  immortal  melodies  of  Mother  Goose,— 

And  never 
Imagined  anything  could  be  more  clever. 

The  toys  and  books  of  childhood  are  put  by, 

But  different  books  and  toys 
Attract  the  fancy  and  delight  the  eye, 

When  we  're  no  longer  boys. 
I  've  no  idea  of  giving  you  a  dose 
Of  sentiment,  —  but  all  that  I  propose 


THE    BLOOMER    COSTUME.  39 

To  say, 

Is,  that  I  have  n't  had  a  look 
Into  that  small  aforesaid  book 

For  many  a  day ; 
But  one  sad  history 

Of  Man's  atrocity  and  Woman's  wrongs, 
Divinely  told  in  one  of  those  sweet  songs, 
Though  left  towards  the  close  enwrapped  in  mystery, 
Took  such  a  firm  hold  of  my  youthful  mind, 
(For  of  such  conduct  never  had  I  heard,) 
That  at  this  moment,  were  I  so  inclined, 
I  could  repeat  it,  word  for  word, 

Though  since  I  read  it 
'Tis  now  some  —  Faith,  I  very  nearly  said  it ! 

I  'in  getting  prosy,  —  that 's  a  fault  of  age, 
But,  my  dear  reader,  do  n't  get  in  a  rage, 

And  I  will  briefly  state 
The  facts,  —  and  if  you  never  read  or  heard 
The  story  told,  will  pledge  my  word 

That  they  're  as  I  relate. 


40  THE    HLOOMER    COSTUME. 

A  market  woman,  on  a  market  day, 
Was,  when  going  home, 
By  drowsiness  quite  overcome. 
And  fell  asleep  upon  the  King's  highway. 
The  historian  then  proeeeds  to  say, 
In  language  most  poetical. 
That  at  this  juncture  critical 

"  There  came  by  a  pedlar,  whose  name  was  Stout, 
He  cut  her  petticoats  all  round  about, 
He  cut  her  petticoats  up  to  her  knees, 
And  left  the  old  woman  to  shiver  and  freeze." 


That  the  behavior  of  the  pedlar  Stout 
Was  very  wrong,  I  never  had  a 

Shadow 
Of  a  doubt,  - 
And  presumed  that  he. 
For  that  dark  villany, 
"Was  now  atoning,  in  eternal  flame, 
(The  place  of  course  I  should  n't  dare  to  name.) 


THE    BLOOMER    COSTUME.  41 

And  for  ever  and  ever 
Would  stay  there,  and  never 
With  human  beings  be  allowed  to  mix  again  ; 
But  from  the  exhibitions  of  this  season, 
We  have  good  reason 
To  think  that  Stout 
Has  been  let  out, 
And  gone  to  his  old  tricks  again  ! 


A    FAREWELL. 


FAREWELL  !  Farewell !     I  scarce  can  bring 

My  trembling  lips  to  speak  the  word ; 
Its  hated  accents  seem  to  ring 

Like  funeral  chimes  by  mourners  heard ; 
It  drags  me  from  the  dreamy  past,  — 

Of  buried  hopes  it  tolls  the  knell, 
And  happiness  retreats  aghast 

Before  that  dreaded  word  —  Farewell ! 


No  more  of  love,  no  more  of  home, 
No  more  of  every  joy  I  prize, 

The  parting  hour  at  length  has  come, 
And  even  friendship  withering  dips. 


A    FAREWELL.  43 

No  more !     What  thoughts  of  deep  despair 

Those  bitter  words  of  anguish  tell ! 
No  hope  of  future  resting  there, 

To  light  the  sadness  of  Farewell ! 

Adieu  !     To  thee  I  will  not  speak 

Of  what  I  fancied  once  might  be,  — 
'T  would  bring  a  blush  upon  thy  cheek, 

In  pity  for  my  misery. 
I  will  not  claim  the  single  tear 

Thou  couldst  not  hide,  were  I  to  tell 
Of  what  thou  needst  not,  must  not,  hear,  — 

'T  is  whispered  in  this  last  Farewell ! 

Perchance,  when  ocean  rolls  between, 

Thou  'It  sometimes  kindly  think  of  one, 
Forgetting  what  he  would  have  been, — 

Remember  only  he  is  gone. 
Perchance,  when  all  around  seems  gay, 

Thy  thoughts  may  for  a  moment  dwell 
On  him  who  can  not,  dare  not,  stay, 

But  bids  thee  now  a  last  Farewell ! 


44  A    FAREWELL. 

Adieu  !  adieu  !  I  meant  to  go 

With  placid  brow  and  tearless  eye, 
Nor  deemed  't  would  wring  my  spirit  so, 

To  speak  one  little  word —  Good-bye  ! 
I  thought  to  wear  a  careless  smile, 

And  with  a  merry  laugh  to  tell  — 
Although  my  heart  should  break,  the  while 

Some  idle  jest,  and  then  —  Farewell  ! 

Yet,  fare  thee  well !     I  ne'er  shall  bend 

My  knee  at  morn  and  eve  in  prayer, 
But  supplications  shall  ascend 

For  thee  to  Heaven,  entreating  there 
That  angel  hands  may  round  thee  twine 

A  wreath  of  happiness,  a  spell 
Of  sunny  hours,  that  still  may  shine, 

Nor  ever  bid,  like  me,  Farewell ! 


THE    REASON    WHY. 


HER  eye  was  like  the  violet, 

When  morning  dews  are  on  it, 
Her  cheek  outbloomed  the  damask  rose 

She  wore  in  her  Spring  bonnet ; 
Her  lips  like  moistened  rubies  glowed, 

Her  hair  was  chestnut-brown, 
Her  teeth  were  like  the  shining  pearls 

That  grace  a  kingly  crown. 

Her  wit  was  great,  her  foot  was  small, 
Her  waist  was  round  and  slender ; 

Her  voice  was  low,  her  figure  tall. 
Her  heart  was  very  tender,  — 


46  THE    REASON    WHY. 

And  though  she  was  as  fair  ami  good 

As  Fancy  ever  drew, 
No  one  proposed  !  —  The  fact  was  this 

She  did  not  have  a  sous  ! 


"I    BRING    THEE,    LOVE,    NO 
COSTLY    GEMS." 


I  BRING  tliee,  love,  no  costly  gems, 

To  decorate  thy  golden  hair, 
Fresh  flowers  are  Nature's  diadems,  — 

Then  let  them  bloom  in  fragrance  there. 

The  wave-washed  Pearl,  from  ocean's  caves, 
The  Indian  Ruby's  roseate  dye, 

The  Diamond,  frozen  tear  of  slaves, 
Were  dim  beside  thy  sparkling  eye ! 

The  Opal,  rainbow  kissed,  may  lend 

Fresh  charms  to  many  a  form  less  bright, 

But  jewels,  love,  would  vainly  blend 
With  thine  that  ask  no  borrowed  light ! 


48  I    BRING    THEE,    LOVE,    NO    COSTLY    (JEMS. 

Then  take  the  Rose,  whose  sunset  hue 
Is  like  the  blush  upon  thy  cheek,  — 

The  Heliotrope,  whose  modest  blue 
Seems  ever  of  thine  eyes  to  speak. 


The  Lily  take;  —  although  thy  brow 
Transcends,  by  far,  its  snowy  white, — 

But  with  the  flowers  I  bring  thee  now 
Pray  decorate  thy  hair,  to-night. 


A    SMELL    OF    THE    HAWTHORN. 


IF  you  've  a  philosophic  turn  of  mind, 

I  give  you  joy !  — 'tis  a  delightful  thing  — 
For  then  you  have  the  will  and  power  to  find 

"  Sermons  in  stones,  and  good  in  every  thing ;" 
Therefore,  it  matters  not  what  situation 
You  're  placed  in,  you  can  find  some  compensation. 


Now  I  'm  not  one  who  "  babbles  of  green  fields," 
Or  for  a  rural  life  e'er  had  a  craving,  — 

There 's  not  a  buttercup  the  pasture  yields 
So  pleasant  to  me  as  a  round  stone  paving ; 

Perhaps  my  taste's  depraved,  —  if  so,  'tis  pity, 

But  I  prefer  a  very  crowded  city. 


50  A    SMELL    OF    THE    HAWTHORN. 

'T  would  have  been  death  to  me,  some  months  ago, 
Finding  that  urgent  business  summoned  me 

From  this  gay  town  a  hundred  miles  or  so, 
Had  I  possessed  not  sweet  Philosophy,  — 

For  no  church  penance  seems  one  half  so  hard 

As  rustication  to  a  Cockney  bard. 


What  must  be,  must  be!  —  therefore,  like  a  man, 
I  packed  my  trunk  without  a  single  sigh, 

(Never  to  fret,  I  find  the  wisest  plan,) 
Called  not  on  any  one  to  say  Good-bye, 

But  bought  a  box  of  very  nice  cigars, 

And  Bulwer's  last,  and  jumped  into  the  cars. 


A  week  passed  on,  my  business  was  completed, 
And  I  still  lingered,  —  singular  to  say, — 

With  hospitality  I  was  treated; 

Yet 't  was  not  that  alone  which  made  me  stay, 

But  at  the  mansion  where  I  had  my  quarters 

Dwelt  one  of  Mother  Eve's  most  lovely  daughters. 


A    SMELL    OP    THE    HAWTHORN.  51 

Indeed,  she  was  a  very  handsome  girl,  — 

Fine  eyes,  sweet  smile,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing  ; 

She  had  the  marble  brow,  the  wavy  curl, 

On  which  the  hackney  poets'  changes  ring,  — 

Perfect  she  was,  as  far  as  outward  show  went, 

But  beauty 's  not  a  matter  of  much  moment, 


If  one  is  only  good,  —  so  people  tell  us,  — 
But  yet  they  always  envy  its  possessor ; 

And  were  there  shops  in  town  where  they  could  sell  us 
Beauty  and  goodness,  there  would  be  a  lesser 

Crowd  'round  the  counter  where  they  vended  virtue 

Than  at  the  other ;  there  the  rush  might  hurt  you  ! 


As  lodestone  attracts  steel,  or  sugar  flies, 
Or  honeysuckle  flowers  the  brisk  bees, 

Or  candles  moths  that  are  not  over-wise, 
(Make  any  other  simile  you  please,) 

So  Beauty,  in  all  climes  and  every  nation, 

Attracts  the  noble  lords  of  the  creation. 


52  A    SMELL    OF    THE    HAWTHORN. 

But  still,  although  it  dazzles  and  enchains, 
Intoxicates,  delights,  enthralls,  and  haunts  us, 

Want  of  refinement,  or  of  heart,  or  brains, 
Or  education,  quickly  disenchants  us. 

With  Helen's  self  one  could  not  live  a  day, 

If  she  spelt  consolation  with  a  K ! 


This  rustic  girl,  to  whom  I've  just  alluded, 
Attracted  me  by  her  uncommon  beauty ; 

And  I,  my  business  now  quite  done,  concluded 
To  stay  a  while,  —  regardless  of  my  duty 

At  home,  —  that  I  might  ascertain  if  she 

Had  wit  and  wisdom,  and  would  fancy  me. 


One  lovely  evening,  —  't  was  just  about 
The  termination  of  the  second  week, — 

(The  old  folks,  bless  their  souls !  had  both  gone  out,) 
I  took  advantage  of  the  chance  to  speak 

To  this  sweet  Chloe  of  the  woodland  wild, — 

Dame  Nature's  unsophisticated  child. 


A    SMELL    OF   THE    HAWTHORN.  53 

I  talked  of  Plato,  the  divine  and  wise,  — 

She  merely  asked,  "  Was  he  a  handsome  man  ?  " 

I  told  her  of  the  marvels  of  the  skies,  — 

Sun,  moon,  and  stars,  and  of  their  wondrous  plan  ; 

And  though  my  explanations  were  quite  clever, 

The  sole  remark  she  made,  was,  "  Well,  I  never ! " 


Did  she  like  Music  ? . . .  She  admired  the  band 
That  played  when  the  militia  troop  came  out ! 

And  Poetry  ? . . .  Yes,  when  she  could  understand 
(Sweet  innocent !)  what  it  was  all  about ! 

And  Painting? . . .  She  much  fancied  the  design 

And  execution  of  the  tavern  siern  ! 


These  dampers  quite  put  out  what  little  flame 
Her  beauty  kindled ;  and  I  turned  away, 

Thinking  the  conversation  rather  tame, 
And  promising  to  see  her  the  next  day ; 

But  late  that  night  I  took  the  railway  train, 

And  turned  a  dweller  in  the  town  again. 


TO-DAY. 


Oil !  say  not  that  to-morrow,  love, 

Is  time  enough  for  joy  ! 
The  dawn  may  wake  in  sorrow,  love, 

And  nil  our  hopes  destroy  ! 

The  dew-drop  seeks  the  blushing  flower, 

And  greets  it  with  a  kiss, 
Then  perishes  the  very  hour 

That  consummates  its  bliss  ! 

Mine  be  the  dew-drop's  heavenly  joy, 

Be  mine  its  happy  lot ; 
E'en  if  thy  kisses,  love,  destroy, 

I'll  die,  and  murmur  not. 


TO-DAY.  55 

Love's  radiant  sun  shines  bright,  to-day, 

To-morrow,  clouds  may  lower ; 
Then,  dearest,  let  us  haste  away, 

While  yet 't  is  in  our  power ! 


TO    A    CLASSMATE. 


"  We  have  heard  the  chimes  at  mldnlpht." 

HEXRY  1\',  SECOND  I'AKT. 


I  'VE  long  been  thinking  I  should  like  to  hear 
Something  of  one  my  heart  holds  ever  dear,  — 

Whether  he  's  living; 

From  his  deep  silence  I  much  feared  he  'd  gone 
Whence  there  is  no  return  —  to  that  long  bourne, — 

I  'd  my  misgiving. 

So  now,  my  friend,  for  want  of  something  better, 
I'll  send  this  very  trifling  rhyming  letter, 

To  ascertain 

If  you  still  live,  and  recollect  the  chimes 
We  've  heard  at  midnight.     Those  delightful  times 

Wo  n't  come  again  • 


TO    A    CLASSMATE.  57 

And  how  oft-times  to  Fancy's  realms  we  'd  mount, 
And  drink  deep  draughts  —  from  the  Pierian  fount, 

To  banish  cares ; 

Then  those  hot  broils  —  of  oysters,  down  at  SNOW'S, 
And  then  the  larks  —  I  mean  with  which  we  rose, 

In  time  for  prayers  ! 


Our  class  is  scattered  —  some  by  trade  have  thriven, 
And  some  have  laid  their  treasure  up  in  Heaven,  — 

(A  safe  investment,) 

And  there  are  some  the  young  idea  who  teach, 
And  some  who  practice  —  some  who  only  preach,  — 

But  here 's  no  jest  meant. 


Some  live  in  town,  their  quiet  way  pursuing, 
Who  would  be  pleased  to  hear  what  you  are  doing, 

And  how  you  are ; 

So  write  us  word,  in  prose,  or  woo  the  muse,  — 
That  you  do  either  well,  whene'er  you  choose, 

We  're  all  aware. 

4 


58  TO    A    CLASSMATE. 

How  are  your  talents,  —  have  they  run  to  waste  ? 
Do  you  still  write,  —  or  have  you  lost  your  taste 

For  the  poetic? 

Are  you  religious  ?  —  Have  you  joined  the  church  ? 
And  have  you  found,  or  are  you  still  in  search 

Of  the  aesthetic? 


Do  you  find  aught  that  gives  you  satisfaction  ? 
Docs  life  present  to  you  the  same  attraction 

It  did  u  lang  syne  ?  " 

Or  have  your  hopes  of  winning  fame  and  glory, 
And  heing  widely  known,  in  song  and  story, 

Vanished,  like  mine  ? 


Unless  you've  sadly  changed,  I  know  you  've  gained 
That  peace  that's  purchased  by  a  life  unstained, 

Upright  and  moral,  — 
More  satisfactory  than  vulgar  praise, 
And  better,  nobler  far,  than  poets'  bays, 

Or  heroes'  laurel. 


TO    A    CLASSMATE.  59 

• 

Write  me  and  tell  me  how  you  pass  the  time, 
In  your  delightful  and  far-distant  clime 

Of  fruits  and  flowers. 

But  ere  I  close,  perhaps  you  'd  like  to  know 
Of  some  with  whom  you  passed,  a  while  ago, 

Such  pleasant  hours  ? 


AVell ;  Kate  still  thrums  her  tinkling  guitar, 
And  sits  and  gazes  at  that  favorite  star 

She  named  for  you, — 

And  sighs  and  languishes,  and  rolls  her  eye ; 
She  thinks  you  're  coming  back!     (At  one  time  I 

Believed  that  true.) 


And  as  for  Caroline,  she  took  offence, 
Merely  because  I  said  she  wanted  sense !  — 

So  we  do  n't  speak. 

Poor  little  Sue,  with  whom  you  used  to  ride, 
Last  June  fell  ill,  turned  pious,  and  then  died !  — 

All  in  a  week. 


GO  TO    A    CLASSMATE. 

How  could  you  find  it  in  your  heart  to  leave  her! 
She  was  a  splendid  girl ;  in  fact,  I  never 

Have  seen  a  finer. 

Her  sister  Jane  —  whom,  doubtless,  you  rcmember- 
Married  a  Missionary,  last  November, 

And  went  to  China. 


And  now,  farewell !  —  my  horse  is  at  the  door ; 
I  'm  for  a  ride,  and  therefore  can 't  say  more. 

I  really  miss  you, 

And  mean  to  write  again,  some  future  day, 
But  now  I  've  merely  time  enough  to  say 

God  bless  you ! 


FALSE    CHARITY. 


AYE  !  give  your  thousands  in  an  idle  cause, 

Break  througli  your  fathers'  and  your  country's  laws, 

Forget  the  precepts  once  so  dearly  prized, 

Be  all  your  former  principles  despised  ! 

But  while  ye  drain  your  hoards  for  other  lands 

Can  ye  be  blind  to  what  your  own  demands  ? 

Can  ye  o'crlook  the  many  suffering  poor 

Who  beg  their  daily  bread  from  door  to  door  ? 

Pleading  the  task  of  aiding  foreign  slaves, 

Deny  to  them  the  mite  their  hunger  craves ! 

Bestowing  millions  on  some  project  wild, 

Refuse  a  penny  to  a  famished  child  ! 

All  this  ye  do,  vain  fools  !  —  all  this,  and  more  ! 

And  is  it  Charity  that  claims  your  store  ? 


C2  FALSE    CHARITY. 

Ask  yourselves  this ;  draw  back  the  misty  veil 

That  hides  your  hearts, —  let  conscience  tell  the  tale. 

Does  aught  of  charity  the  gold  supply  ? 

What,  no  response!     Wilt  give  me  no  reply? 

Then  I  will  answer  truly,  for  ye  all : 

'Tis  Pride!  —  the  sin  that  caused  an  angel's  fall! 

'Tis  Pride!  —  that  hurled  a  holy  spirit  down 

From  highest  Heaven,  and  caused  a  God  to  frown 

On  those  He  loved  the  dearest,  best,  before ! 

Oh,  search  your  hearts,  and  gather  from  your  store 

At  least  the  crumbs,  and  give  them  to  the  poor. 

'T  was  but  an  hour  ago  I  saw  a  form, 

That  dragged  scarce  half  a  body  through  the  storm, 

'Twixt  bending  crutches,  slowly  on  his  way, 

From  closing  door  and  closing  door,  to  pray 

A  little  aid.  to  save  his  only  son ; 

And  unassisted,  still  he  tottered  on. 

I  know  not  if  't  was  pity  bade  me  speak, — 

I  could  not  help  it,  for  he  looked  so  weak, 

Methought  that  every  step  would  lie  his  I  us!  ; 

He  seemed  to  stagger  in  the  wintry  blast 


FALSE    CHARITY.  63 

As  if  lie  had  not  strength  to  hold  him  up. 
Poor  man !  he  must  have  drained  the  bitter  cup 
Of  pain  and  penury  e'en  to  the  dregs !  — 
And  now  —  the  hardest  pang  of  all  —  he  begs 
From  men  of  wealth  a  mite,  to  save  his  boy,  — 
Not  for  himself,  —  no  !  sooner  far  destroy 
His  hated  life,  and  end  at  once  his  woe ; 
But  for  his  child  he  will  descend  so  low, 
And  cringe  to  avarice,  can  he  only  save 
His  chiefest  joy  and  blessing  from  the  grave. 
List  to  the  tale  he  tells  !  —  Columbians,  hear ! 
And  for  the  love  of  all  you  hold  most  dear, 
Forget  it  not.  —  Remember  those  at  home. 
First  give  to  these,  then  let  your  pity  roam 
O'er  all  the  world ;  —  chief  in  your  hearts  should  be 
Your  country's  claims,  —  not  those  beyond  the  sea ! 
"  Six  years  ago  went  up  a  mighty  cry, 
From  North  and  South,  of  War  and  Liberty. 
With  many  thousands  more  I  took  the  field, 
Eesolvcd  to  die  or  conquer,  ne'er  to  yield  ; 
In  many  a  battle  willingly  I  shed 
My  blood,  like  rain.     A  brother  left  I  dead, 


64  FALSE    CHARITY. 

On  Cerro  Gordo's  sanguinary  plain  ; 

At  Cherubusco's  fight  I  stood  again, 

Close  by  another ;  he,  too,  dying,  fell 

E'en  at  my  feet !     O  God  !  I  loved  him  well !  - 

Yet  on,  still  on,  I  pressed,. till  —  harder  lot  — 

I  too,  fell  —  wounded  by  a  cruel  shot ;  — 

A  helpless,  useless,  broken-hearted  man, 

At  last  I  gained  my  home."     Hear  this  who  ran. 

And  check  the  blood  that  mantles  o'er  your  brow  : 

His  grateful  country  has  forgot  him  now,  — 

His  withered  laurel  has  to  cypress  turned  ;  — 

From  ev'ry  door  the  wounded  man  is  spurned, 

While  eager  hands  throw  down  the  heaps  of  gold 

Before  a  self-made  idol,  —  as  of  old, 

When  Israel  at  Jehovah  dared  to  laugh, 

And  gave  their  wealth  to  build  a  molten  calf. 

But  list  the  tale :  "  I  gained  my  native  land, 

Maimed,  and  in  want.     Of  all  that  stalwart  band 

Who,  but  a  year  before,  went  forth  in  pride, 

But  few  remained,  —  the  greater  part  had  died 

Of  fell  disease ;  or,  on  the  battle-field, 

Face  to  the  foe.     Columbia's  fame  was  sealed 


FALSE    CHARITY.  65 

And  signed  in  blood  !  Wives,  parents,  children,  mourn 

Loved  ones  departed,  never  to  return  ! 

Full  many  a  widow  welcomed  us  with  tears ; 

Our  grateful  country  welcomed  us  with  cheers, — 

Then  gave  us  —  to  requite  the  blood  we  shed  — 

Medals  !  —  which  we  were  forced  to  sell  for  bread  ! 

Aye  !  sell  for  bread ;  no  other  means  remained, 

To  stay  our  hunger.  —  Medals,  bravely  gained, 

For  food  and  raiment !  "     God,  in  whom  I  trust, 

Are  such  things  true  ?     Can  it  be  right  or  just 

To  aid  each  useless  and  chimeric  scheme 

"With  wasted  thousands  ?     Strive  to  fill  a  stream 

"With  drops  of  water  till  it  flood  its  banks, 

Repay  a  friend's  devotedness  with  thanks ; 

Attempt  to  curb  a  whirlwind  with  thine  arm; 

Preach  love  to  tigers,  silence  to  the  storm, 

When  these  ye  do,  'tis  time  enough  to  free 

The  shackled  nations  by  thy  charity. 

Begin  at  home  —  there's  many  an  object  here 

Has  claims  upon  thy  bounty,  far  more  near 

Than  those  ye  aid  so  freely,  far  more  dear 


G6  FALSE    CHAUITY. 

To  every  honest,  patriotic  heart,  — 

Claims  that  are  pressed  with  no  rhetoric  art, 

But  plead  in  withered  frames,  and  sunken  eyes ! 

Delay  no  longer,  lest  another  dies 

Ere  ye  resolve.     Haste,  haste,  the  hours  fly  fast ! 

Though  late,  determine  to  be  just,  at  last. 


PULCHERRIMA. 


THOUGH  from  ray  boyhood  I  have  felt 
A  love  for  Beauty,  and  have  knelt 

And  worshipped  at  her  shrine, 
Yet  never  have  I  known,  'till  now, 
While  gazing  on  that  lovely  brow, 

And  those  dear  eyes  of  thine, 
The  might  of  the  enchanting  spell 
Of  which  the  poets  often  tell. 
Yes,  lady  fair,  until  this  hour 
I  knew  not  Beauty's  magic  power ! 


THE    TEAKS    OF    THE    VINE 


THE  day  is  done, 
The  setting  sun 

lias  faded  in  the  West ; 
The  stars  of  night 
Are  shining  bright, 

The  birds  have  gone  to  rest. 
Then  brothers  dear, 
Come  gather  here,  — 

Each  anxious  thought  resign, 
We  '11  drown  all  care, 
And  drink  the  fair, 

Jn  the  sparkling  tears  of  the  vine. 


THE    TEARS    OP    THE    VINE.  G9 

We  '11  banish  gloom 

Till  morning  come, 
Though  clouds  of  sorrow  lower ; 

Your  goblet  fill, 

And  every  ill 
Shall  own  its  magic  power. 

This  night  shall  glee 

Triumphant  be, 
And  rosy  wreaths  entwine, 

To  crown  the  bowl, 

And  glad  the  soul, 
In  the  sparkling  tears  of  the  vine. 


'Till  death  draws  near 
We  '11  gather  here, 

And  quaff  the  cup  of  gladness ; 
Though  fortune  frown, 
In  wine  we  '11  drown 

Ere  breathed,  the  sigh  of  sadness ; 


70  THE    TEARS    OF    THE    VINE. 

And  when  at  length, 
With  fading  strength. 

Our  life  we  must  resign, 
To  mem'ries  past 
We  '11  drink  our  last, 

In  the  sparkling  tears  of  the  vine. 


A    BENEFICIAL    NAP. 


"  Kc'cr  was  dream 
So  like  a  waking." 


AViNTER's  TALE. 


LAST  night  I  sat  alone,  before  the  fire, 
And  watched  the  eoals  grow  ashy  and  expire. 
So  fade  away  my  youthful  hopes,  said  I,  — 
When  instantly  I  heard  a  low,  deep  sigh ;  — 

I  started ;  and  from  out  the  fire-place 
I  saw  a  shadowy,  sylph-like  figure  rise, 

That  stepping  forth,  unveiled  a  lovely  face, 
And  turned  on  me  a  pair  of  brilliant  eyes. 

"  Behold,  and  listen,  but  speak  not ! "  said  she ; 

"  For  once  disclosed  thy  Guardian  Angel  see ! 
"Where'er  you  go,  whether  you  walk  or  ride, 
I,  though  unseen,  am  ever  by  your  side. 


72  A    BENEFICIAL    NAP. 

Why  this  despondency  ?     With  pain  I  see 
This  fainting  heart,  and  lack  of  energy; 
Do  not  despair.     If  not  to  you  belong 
The  God-like  mind,  the  heavenly  gift  of  song, 
Still  much  can  yet  be  done ;  you  have  your  part 
To  play  on  Life's  great  stage :  be  of  good  heart ; 
Much  is  required  from  every  one  of  those 
To  whom  is  given  much.     Of  joys  and  woes, 
Of  pain  and  pleasure,  nearly  an  equal  share 
Is  given  to  each ;  —  all  have  some  load  to  bear, 
Thine  by  no  means  the  heaviest.     You  might  see, 
Could  you  read  hearts,  that  many  envy  thee. 
Don't  magnify  each  petty,  trifling  ill, — 
'Twill  pass  away.     Have  a  determined  will; 
Press  on,  and  falter  not !  —  The  still,  small  voice 
Of  Conscience  will  approve,  and  cry,  Rejoice ! 
At  every  triumph  ;  be  by  that  sustained. 
Act  well  the  part  for  which  you  've  been  ordained. 
I  'm  not  the  only  one  to  whom  you  're  dear,  — 
There's  many  a  friend  who's  watching  your  career, 


A    BENEFICIAL    NAP.  73 

To  whom,  years  hence,  't  will  give  delight  to  say 
You  tired  not,  nor  halted  on  your  way. 
"  Be  just,  and  fear  not ; "  to  yourself  be  true, 
All  will  be  well.     Adieu  !  my  friend,  adieu  !  " 

I  looked  around ;  —  my  lights  were  burning  low  — 
I  must  have  been  asleep.     'Twas  even  so. 
A  good  long  hour  had  I  been  sitting  there, 
In  Morpheus'  arms,  though  in  my  easy  chair. 
But  Hope  had  risen,  —  I  felt  quite  delighted, 
Convinced  that  all  Life's  flowers  were  not  blighted ; 
And  though  of  wealth  I  'd  not  a  sovereign  more 
Than  when  I  fell  asleep,  an  hour  before, 
Still  I  'd  gained  something  —  a  contented  mind, 
That  for  sometime  I  'd  tried  in  vain  to  find, 
And  I  resolved  that,  whatsoe'er  my  fate, 
I  yet  would  "  learn  to  labor  and  to  wait." 


SPRING    TIME. 


SPRING  time  is  coming,  all  laden  with  flowers, 
Spreading  her  mantle  of  green  o'er  the  bowers. 
The  Lark,  high  in  air,  is  beginning  to  sing 
Her  song  of  rejoicing,  to  welcome  the  Spring. 

Brooks  are  flowing, 

Life  bestowing, 
Lovely  Nature  seems  to  fling 

All  her  charms, 

With  willing  arms, 
In  the  lap  of  blooming  Spring. 


SPRING    TIME.  75 

Silver-haired  Winter  before  her  is  flying, 
In  the  depths  of  the  valley  unwept  he  is  dying, — 
Save  the  tears  of  compassion  that  pity  may  wring 
From  the  bright  eyes  of  April  —  the  infant  of  Spring. 

Birds  are  mating, 

Bliss  relating, 
In  each  tuneful  strain  they  sing; 

Haste !  then,  dearest, 

Love  seems  nearest, 
Holiest,  brightest,  in  the  Spring. 


TO     SYLVIA. 


I  KNOW  my  heart 's  no  longer  mine, 
By  many  an  unerring  sign  ; 
The  blush  that  mantles  o'er  my  cheek, 
When  others  of  thee  chance  to  speak,  — • 
The  quickening  pulse,  the  sudden  start, 
That  sends  the  life-blood  to  my  heart, 
And  thrills  my  inmost  soul,  whene'er 
Thy  footstep  or  thy  voice  I  hear, 
And  vanishes  when  by  thy  side 
All  my  philosophy  and  pride. 


TO    SYLVIA.  77 

Time  cannot  from  my  heart  erase 

The  impress  of  thy  lovely  face  ; 

And  stern  indeed  is  the  decree 

That  bids  me  to  hope  naught  from  thee ! 

As  mariners  regard  the  star 

That  beams  upon  them  from  afar, 

And  designates  their  proper  way, 

When,  compass  lost,  they  Ve  gone  astray,  — 

Or  as  idolaters  the  sun  — 

To  be  adored,  but  not  be  wpn,  — 

So  must  I  learn  to  think  of  thee, 

How  hard  soe'er  the  task  may  be  ; 

And  though  I  would  that  I  might  claim 

To  call  thee  by  a  dearer  name 

Than  friend,  —  that  seems  by  far  too  cold,  — 

But  Fate,  that  cannot  be  controlled, 

Has  interposed  ;  I  '11  not  regret 

That  thou  and  I  have  ever  met,  — 

But  while  the  light  of  life  shall  last, 

Will  think  of  happy  moments  past, 


78  TO    SYLVIA. 

Ere  from  that  pleasing  dream  of  thee 

I  woke  to  the  reality. 

But  fare  thee  well !  — •  through  life  thou  'It  move, 

Encircled,  not  enthralled,  by  love, 

And  at  thy  feet,  enchanting  maid, 

Heart  after  heart  will  still  be  laid,  — 

But  none  that 's  offered  at  thy  shrine 

Can  beat  for  thee  as  true  as  mine. 


THE    FORSAKEN. 


I  FEEL  no  more  thy  cruel  art, 

And  bid  adieu  with  tearless  eye, 
I  cannot  free  again  my  heart, 

But  I  can  let  it  break  and  die. 
Perchance  I  e'en  shall  strive  to  smile, 

When  thou  art  to  another  wed, 
But  I  implore  thee,  wait  awhile, 

Nor  claim  thy  bride  'till  I  am  dead. 


I  thought  not  thus  the  dream  would  end, 
Oh,  't  was  a  hard  and  bitter  waking ! 

But  cease  thy  falseness  to  defend, 

Go  and  forget  the  heart  now  breaking. 


80  THE    FORSAKKN. 

The  evening  sun  may  rise  to-morrow, 
The  parting  ship  return  to  shore, 

But  all  my  hopes  have  set  in  sorrow, 
Have  set  to  rise  again  no  more. 


TO    AN    EDITOR. 


I  DO  N'T  know  why  it  is,  sometimes 
(Perhaps  it  is  the  weather,) 

I  find  the  knack  of  making  rhymes 
Has  left  me  altogether ; 

And  e'en  a  draught  of  Schreider's  wine 

Can 't  give  me  strength  to  write  a  line. 


'T  is  so  to-day ;  for  half  an  hour, 

This  rainy  afternoon, 
I  've  tried,  but  find  I  've  not  the  power 

To  start  a  single  tune ; 
The  winged  horse,  on  some  account, 
Is  not  inclined  to  let  me  mount. 


82  TO    AN    EDITOR. 

Of  my  ideas  I  '11  clothe  the  whole 
In  verse,  some  future  time, 

But  now,  to  save  my  precious  soul, 
I  could  not  coin  a  rhyme  ; 

And  as  you  know  my  warm  regard, 

Presume  you  will  not  take  it  hard. 


None  of  your  Poets  have,  of  late, 
Made  calls  upon  their  muse, 

I  trust  they  've  met  with  no  sad  fate,  — 
Perhaps  they  've  got  the  blues  ; 

If  so,  a  trot  upon  the  road 

Would  do  them  all  a  "  power  of  good." 


There  's  nothing,  when  one  's  very  blue, 
(And  who  sometimes  is  not?) 

To  make  him  feel  "  as  good  as  new," 
Like  a  smart,  rattling  trot ! 

I  found  that  out,  sometime  ago, 

And  try  it  oft,  and  ought  to  know. 


TO    AN    EDITOR.  83 

When  you  're  beneath  a  clear,  blue  sky, 

And  on  a  noble  horse, 
The  "  vivida  vis  animi  " 

Returns  at  once,  of  course. 
"When  Pegasus  disdains  the  strings, 
Just  try  a  nag  that  has  no  wings. 


The  clouds  begin  to  break  away, 
And  show  a  patch  of  blue, 

And  now  the  sun  shoots  forth  a  ray, 
So  pen  and  ink,  adieu !  — 

I  'm  for  the  saddle,  —  but  to-night, 

When  I  return,  I  '11  surely  write. 


"I  SAW  HER  FIRST  AMID  A  THRONG." 


I  SAW  her  first  amid  a  throng 
Of  gallants  brave  and  ladies  fair, 

Her's  was  the  gayest,  happiest  song,  — 
She  was  the  brightest  being  there. 

A  happy  smile  played  'round  her  mouth, 
Like  sunshine  on  a  placid  lake 

When  zephyrs  from  the  sunny  South 
The  golden-dimpled  ripples  wake. 

I  scarcely  dared  to  ask  the  name 

Of  her  who  seemed  so  fair  and  bright, 

Yet  to  my  brow  the  heart-blood  came, 
As  near  me  oft  she  passed  that  night. 


"I    SAW    HER    FIRST    AMID    A    THRONG."  85 

We  met  again,  and  I  had  known 
On  life's  dark  ocean  many  a  storm, 

Full  many  a  year  had  swiftly  flown,  — 
Alas  !  how  changed  that  angel  form  ! 


The  hand  of  Death  was  on  her  brow, 
So  low  her  voice  she  scarce  could  speak ; 

Her  hazel  eye  was  sunken  now, 
And  pallid  the  once  rosy  cheek,  — 


Save  where  a  deep  carnation  flush 
Was  shining  on  the  snowy  white ; 

I  knew  it  was  a  flower  whose  blush 
Foretold  the  quickly  coming  night. 


'Twas  on  the  rolling  deep  we  met, 

She  sought  for  health  a  sunnier  shore, 

But  ere  the  second  sun  had  set, 
Her  pilgrimage  of  life  was  o'er. 


86  "  I    SAW    HER    FIRST    AMID    A    THRONG." 

Yet  still  that  happy  smile  was  there ; 

Cold,  heartless  Death  forgot  his  power, 
And  pitying,  resolved  to  spare 

The  beauty  of  the  withered  flower. 

Poor  girl !  alas,  no  tree  shall  wave 
Its  drooping  branches  o'er  thy  head, 

For  wide  and  fathomless  the  grave 
Where  thou  wast  calmly,  sadly  laid. 


No  love-sown  flower  e'er  shall  bloom 
Above  the  spot  where  thou  dost  sleep, 

No  sculptured  stone  shall  mark  thy  tomb, 
For  friends  to  wander  there  and  weep. 


Yet  many  a  heart  enshrines  thee  still, 
And  many  a  thought  and  tear  are  given, 

While  hopes,  rich  hopes,  each  bosom  fill, 
To  meet  thy  angel  soul  in  Heaven. 


TO 


THE  breeze  is  fair, 
The  fading  land  will  soon  be  gone, 

And  o'er  the  deep  I  bear 
A  heart  that  thinks  of  thee  alone ! 

Thy  voice  so  sweet, 
Seems  whispering  to  my  listening  ear ; 

I  turn  thy  smile  to  meet 
And  find  'tis  but  the  wind  I  hear. 

Thy  gentle  face 
And  figure,  that  so  sylph-like  seems, 

With  its  supernal  grace, 
I  may  not  see,  except  in  dreams. 


88  TO 


While  life  remains. 
Thy  image  ne'er  shall  leave  my  heart ; 

And  when  in  dying  pains 
I  'm  forced  from  all  on  earth  to  part, 

Then  through  the  air 
My  soul  released  shall  soar  above, 

And  bear  aloft  a  prayer 
For  thee  and  all  whom  thou  may'st  love. 


NEVER    DESPAIR." 


NEVER  despair !  Press  ahead  on  thy  way, 
Fear  not  though  the  clouds  lower  darkling  to-day, 
Fear  not  though  thy  heart  is  encurtained  in  gloom, 
Press  onward !     To-morrow  the  sunshine  may  come. 
The  day-star  is  there  and  ere  long  't  will  be  shining, 
The  Heavens  are  blue,  then  away  with  repining. 
The  pathway  before  thee,  though  steep,  is  still  open, 
Press  on !  though  the  road  may  be  rugged  and  broken, 
Think  not  of  thy  former  misfortunes  with  sorrow, 
Resolve  to  retrieve  them  to-day  and  to-morrow. 
Though  friends  may  forsake  thee,  the  cold  world  be 

frowning, 

Press  on !  and  success  shall  thy  efforts  be  crowning. 
You  ne'er  can  replenish  a  light  purse  with  grieving, 
Then  let  a  light  heart  be  the  balance  relieving, 

6 


90  "NEVER  DESPAIR." 

'Twill  weigh  down  the  purse  and  e'en  make  you  forget  it, 

'Twill  fill  it,  perchance,  if  you  only  will  let  it. 

A  heart  that  is  light  is  a  true  golden  treasure, 

For  it  joys  in  itself,  nor  looks  elsewhere  for  pleasure. 

'Tis  a  sun  ever  shining  on  all  who  are  near  it ; 

'Tis  a  sweet  playing  lute  to  whoever  may  hear  it ; 

'T  is  a  mirror  reflecting  all  others  in  gladness ; 

'Tis  a  curtain  to  hang  o'er  the  dark  brow  of  sadness  ; 

A  diamond  that  shines,  though  surrounded  in  gloom ; 

A  lamp  to  illumine  the  mists  of  the  tomb. 

Never  despair  !     Life  yet  is  remaining, 

To  give  thee  fresh  chance  of  the  vict'ry  obtaining. 

Far,  far  in  the  distance  hope  beckons  thee  on, 

Think  not  of  the  idle  days  faded  and  gone. 

Press  on  !  for  the  sun  in  thy  sky  soon  may  set, 

Then  waste  not  the  moments  in  useless  regret ; 

No  time  now  is  left  to  reflect  on  lost  chances, 

Thy  life  every  hour  to  its  ending  advances. 

Let  all  thy  transactions  be  honest  and  fair, 

And  e'en  let  thy  watchword  be.  "  Never  Despair  !  " 


ROMEO  MONTAGUE  TO  JULIET  CAPULET. 


DEAR  JULIET,  come  down  from  your  lattice  so  high, 
I ' ve  no  ladder  with  which  I  can  reach  you  ; 

There 's  no  dew  on  the  grass  and  the  walks  are  quite  dry, 
Then,  dearest,  descend,  I  beseech  you ! 

Love  making  you  '11  find  very  nice,  if  you  '11  try, 
And  I'm  just  the  person  to  teach  you. 


I  've  come  over  roads  very  stony  and  rough, 
And  through  perils  severe  that  beset  me, 

Nor  tarried  to  ask  of  each  Capulet  gruff 
If  to  love  you  he 's  willing  to  let  me ; 

I  think  I  'd  have  given  a  dose  "quantum  stiff" 
To  all  of  them,  if  they  had  met  me. 


;>Z  ROMEO    MONTAGUE    TO    JULIET    CAPUI-ET. 

At  a  very  great  risk  to  my  clothes  and  my  neck, 
I  have  clambered  right  over  the  wall, 

And  the  broken  glass  bottles  its  summit  that  deck 
Did  not  scare  or  restrain  me  at  all,  — 

Though  I  knew  I  should  be  a  most  terrible  wreck, 
If  by  chance  I  had  happened  to  fall. 


Nor  fear  I  the  sword  of  your  big,  burly  brother, 
Who,  perhaps  now  is  hovering  nigh, 

But  I  '11  dare  every  danger  each  night  for  another 
Bright  glance  from  your  dark  rolling  eye. 

It 's  no  easy  thing,  let  me  tell  you,  to  smother 
The  flame  that  is  lighted  on  high ! 


He  who's  never  been  wounded  may  well  jest  at  scars, 

And  to  overcome  peril  essay, 
Broken  bottles  set  endwise,  nor  locks,  bolts,  and  bars, 

Can  keep  a  true  lover  away ; 
Then  by  the  soft  light  of  the  innocent  stars, 

List  to  all  the  sweet  things  I  've  to  say. 


ROMEO    MONTAGUE    TO    JULIET    CAPULET.  93 

But  what  you  complain  of  it  seems  is  my  name, — 

I  would  I  'd  my  visiting  card,  — 
For  although  for  my  cognomen  I  'm  not  to  blame, 

Yet  I  swear  I  would  tear  up  the  word ; 
But  for  such  a  slight  cause  to  extinguish  love's  flame 

"Would  truly  be  vastly  absurd ! 


The  flower  that  long  since  was  christened  a  rose 
Would  assuredly  seem  just  as  sweet, 

And  be  as  agreeable  to  one's  eyes  and  nose, 
If  we  called  it  a  carrot,  or  beet,  — 

And  I,  as  John  Smith  or  Tom  Brown,  I  suppose, 
Would  appear  just  as  well  in  the  street ! 


So,  in  order  no  more  to  be  under  a  ban, 
And  denied  an  access  to  your  door, 

I  '11  have  my  name  altered  as  soon  as  I  can, 
Nor  be  llomeo  Montague  more  ; 

To  think  aught  a  sacrifice,  I  'm  not  the  man, 
That  is  done  for  the  girl  T  adore. 


94          ROMEO    MONTAGUE    TO    .JfLIET    CAl'ULET. 

Then,  Juliet,  descend  from  that  balcony  high, 
I've  a  sermon  on  Love  that  I'll  preach  you, — 

We  '11  take  a  nice  walk  'round  the  garden  so  dry,- 
So,  dearest,  come  down,  I  beseech  you  ; 

Love  making  you  '11  like,  if  you  '11  only  once  try, 
And  I  know  't  will  be  pleasant  to  teach  you  ! 


MAID    OF    THE    SOUTH. 


MAID  of  the  South !  'neath  the  moon's  gentle  light 
I  am  pacing  the  deck,  on  this  beautiful  night ; 
My  swift  bark  is  speeding  its  course  o'er  the  sea, 
And,  Maid  of  the  South,  I  am  thinking  of  thee ! 

Maid  of  the  South !  thy  sweet  music  I  hear, 
For  memory  repeats  every  note  to  my  ear ; 
Every  wave  as  it  breaks  seems  to  whisper  to  me, 
And,  Maid  of  the  South,  they  are  whispering  of  thee  ! 

Maid  of  the  South !  thou  art  sleeping,  I  know, 
For  the  night  is  far  spent  and  the  moon 's  sinking  low  ; 
Art  thou  dreaming  of  one  who  is  out  on  the  sea  ? 
Sweet  Maid  of  the  South,  art  thou  dreaming  of  me  ? 


96  MAID    OF    THE    SOUTH. 

Maid  of  the  South !    Night's  pale  crescent  lias  set,- 
And  I  saw  its  last  ray  with  a  tear  of  regret, 
For  it  told  of  sad  parting  and  absence  to  me. 
Yet  Maid  of  the  South,  I  'm  still  thinking  of  thee  ! 


TO    THE    CITY    OF    COLOGNE. 


"  Yon  arc  smelt 
Above  the  moon." 

COKIOLASUS. 


I  HAVE  travelled,  by  land  and  by  sea, 

Many  leagues,  since  to  manhood  I  've  grown, 

But  ne'er,  until  now,  did  I  place 
My  nose  in  thy  city  —  Cologne ! 


Not  the  spicy  Arabian  perfumes 

Are  the  only  perfumes  I  have  known, 

But  I  never  before  was  assailed 
By  such  a  vile  odor  —  Cologne  ! 


98  TO    THE    CITY    OF    COLOGNE. 

A  man  in  this  part  of  the  world 
Should  n't  be  over  nice,  I  will  own, 

But  my  system,  I  fear,  wo  n't  endure 
A  long  stay  in  this  odor  —  Cologne. 


I  have  heard  of  the  real  Farinas,  — 

I  believe  there 's  a  thousand  and  one,  — 

And  now  I  Ve  discovered  the  reason 

Why  they  make  so  much  Eau-de-Cologne. 


My  purse  do  n't  increase  in  its  weight, 
The  longer  from  home  I  am  gone, 

But  I  felt  quite  delighted  to  find 

I  could  pay  what  I  owed  here  —  Cologne, 


And  have  enough  left  me  to  charter, 
If  need  be,  a  steamboat  alone,  — 

For,  cost  what  it  might,  I  'd  resolved 
To  get  far  from  thy  odor  —  Cologne. 


TO    THE    CITY    OF    COLOGNE.  99 

I  trust  my  olfactory  nerves 

Will  regain  soon  their  natural  tone, 

But  it  seems  now  as  if  they  could  ne'er 
Smell  aught  but  thy  odor  —  Cologne  ! 


There  are  some  things  one  cannot  forget, 
Unless  Mem'ry  gets  knocked  off  her  throne, 

And  I  'm  sure  I  '11  remember  till  then 
Thy  most  villainous  odor  —  Cologne  ! 


So,  with  joy  I  now  bid  thee  farewell !  — 
And  from  here  all  the  way  up  to  Bonn, 

Between  every  whiff  of  my  pipe, 
I'll  be  smelling  thy  ^H}  Cologne! 


THE    BLIND    BOY   TO    111$    BROTHER 
IN    CHURCH. 


I  AM  not  blind,  dear  Brother,  now. 
For  though  I  cannot  sec  — 

Though  darkness  overspreads  my  brow 
The  Gospel  shines  for  me. 

List !  Brother,  list !  each  holy  word 

Is  graven  on  my  mind  ; 
T  could  not  see,  but  then  I  heard,  — 

Brother,  I  am  not  blind  ! 

Father !  to  whom  all  suppliants  kneel, 

I  :isk  not  worldly  sight ; 
Oil,  hear  a  poor  blind  boy's  appeal 

For  more  of"  Ileavrnlv  light ! 


STANZAS. 


"  Give  me  a  bowl  of  wine ; 
I  have  not  that  alacrity  of  spirit 
Nor  cheer  of  mind  that  I  was  wont  to  have." 

RICHARD  THE  THIRD. 


'T  is  evening,  and  each  star  above 
Right  brilliantly  doth  shine,  — 

And  to  the  health  of  her  I  love 
I  drink  this  Manmux  Wine. 


A  thousand  leagues  my  heart  returns 
To  lands  beyond  the  brine,  — 

To  her  for  whom  my  spirit  yearns, 
To  whom  I  drink  this  Wine. 


102  STANZAS. 

Her  figure,  graceful  as  the  fawn, 

And  slender  as  the  vine 
From  which  the  clustering  grapes  were  torn, 

To  make  this  glorious  Wine, 


"Would  gain  new  strength  could  she  but  print 

Her  foot  beside  the  Rhine  ; 
And  her  pale  cheek  would  wear  a  tint 

As  rich  as  Manrnux  Wine. 


The  moon  would  have  a  softer  charm, 

A  light  still  more  divine, 
If  she  were  leaning  on  my  arm  — 

To  whom  I  drink  this  Wine. 


If  there  is  virtue  in  a  prayer 
That  flows  from  lips  of  mine, 

She  shall  be  kept  from  grief  and  care, 
And  pure  as  Margaux  Wine. 


STANZAS.  103 

For  her  the  Angels  in  the  skies 

Shall  all  their  powers  combine, 
And  naught  shall  dim  her  beauteous  eyes, 

Now  bright  as  Mareraux  Wine. 


KOTE.  The  "Printers'  Devil"  inquires  if  Margaux  Wine  is  made  on  the 
Rhine;  and  upon  being  replied  to  in  the  negative,  ventures  to  suggest  that  it 
would  seem  that  it  was,  from  the  foregoing  verses.  The  writer  thinks  not; 
but  as  celestial  wisdom  sometimes  falls  from  the  lips  of  babes  and  sucklings, 
so  perhaps  a  sagacious  criticism  has  issued  from  the  mouth  of  this  little  imp 
of  darkness. 


T II  E     F  U  T  U  K  E . 


THE  dim  and  shadowy  Future  !  —  who  can  say 

What  is  the  Future  ?     Not  one  single  day 

Canst  thou,  O  mortal,  scan  the  great  "  To  Come  !  " 

AVe  know  the  grave  must  be  our  final  home 

Upon  this  earth,  and  that  is  all  we  know ; 

Along  the  past  we  look  —  as,  o'er  the  snow 

The  weary  traveller,  turning,  views  each  mark 

His  foot  has  made  distinct;  —  but  through  the  dark 

Unknown  Futurity,  thou  canst  not  peer. 

Believe !     Make  Hope  thy  guide,  and  let  her  cheer 

Thy  onward  way;  look  upward  to  thy  Gou, 

Nor  strive  to  look  beyond  !  —  And  when  the  sod 

Covers  the  clay  that  now  confines  thy  soul, 

His  hand  shall  guide  thee  to  the  wished-tbr  goal ! 


THE    FUTURE.  105 

Trust  thou  in  Him,  and  learn  thou  from  the  Past 

To  shun  the  snares  that  sin  would  'round  thee  cast ; 

Make  of  thy  former  life  a  well-read  book,  — 

Inscribe  it  on  thy  heart,  that  thou  mayst  look 

Upon  its  page  whene'er  thy  footsteps  stray ; 

Make  it  a  finger-post  to  point  the  way 

That  thou  must  follow !  —  Read  the  Past  aright,  — 

'T  will  be  a  beacon  in  the  darkest  night, 

To  light  the  narrow  path  that  thou  shouldst  tread ; 

The  Past  is  for  the  living,  not  the  dead ! 

See  yonder  monument  that  towers  on  high ! 
'T  is  not  alone  to  tell  the  passer  by 
Some  patriot,  sage,  or  hero,  lies  beneath, 
For  whom  't  was  raised.     And  for  the  laurel  wreath 
What  cares  the  dead  ?     Pie  cannot  see  it  now ; 
He  cannot  wear  upon  his  worm-seared  brow 
The  marble  chaplet  that  is  chiselled  here 
Upon  the  stone ;  or  feel  the  grateful  tear 
We  drop  upon  the  flower  that  blossoms  o'er 
His  lifeless  form.     His  boat  is  launched  from  shore 


10G  THE    FUTURE. 

Upon  that  fathomless  and  unknown  sea  — 
The  boundless  ocean  of  Eternity ! 
Come ;  read  with  me  the  epitaph,  —  't  will  speak 
Volumes  of  richest  teachings.     Let  us  seek 
To  know  the  reason  why  such  costly  pile 
Tells  of  the  dead.     What !   Cynic,  dost  thoti  smile  - 
As  if  the  grave-yard  could  no  lesson  tell 
To  such  as  thee? —  Go  thou,  and  read  it  well ; 
Carve  every  epitaph  upon  thy  heart, 
'T  will  make  thee  happier,  wiser,  than  thou  art. 
Read  this :    "  He  was  a  good  and  honest  man  ; " 
Read,  aye,  and  emulate  him,  if  you  can, — 
"  He  loved  his  country,  and  for  her  he  died." 
Is  there  no  lesson  here  ?     See,  far  and  wide, 
Your  country  torn  by  faction,  and  for  what  ? 
Oh !  have  ye  all  so  speedily  forgot 
The  sea  of  holy  blood  your  Fathers'  shed  ? 
Tear  down  your  monuments,  disentomb  your  dead, 
Scatter  their  ashes  to  the  winds  of  Heaven ! 
Revile  their  names,  and  ye  may  be  forgiven, — 


THE    FUTURE.  107 

But,  the  great  Fabric  they  erected,  spare ! 

Forbear !  —  deluded  Fools  !     In  time,  forbear ! 

Once  severed,  ye  can  never  more  unite 

The  glorious  chain  your  Fathers'  forged  so  bright ! 

Break  but  one  link  and  every  hope  is  gone,  — 

Not  even  the  strongest  State  can  stand  alone ! 

What !  shall  our  flag  —  the  banner  of  the  free  — 

Be  furled  forever  o'er  the  boundless  sea ! 

And  wave  no  more  in  glory  o'er  the  land  ? 

Say,  would  ye  on  your  Fathers'  memory  brand 

The  damning  tale  that  they  so  long  have  fought, 

Through  long,  long  years,  and  bled  and  died  for  naught? 

Would'st  rend  asunder  every  well-known  stripe !  — 

Blot  out  each  star  ?     Vile  Traitors !  would  ye  wipe 

From  off  the  book  of  Nations  what  has  been, — 

The  noblest  page  that  book  has  ever  seen, — 

And  give  one  only  stripe  to  every  State  — 

One  only  star  ?     Pause,  ere  it  be  too  late ! 

Think  what  ye  do  !     Look  backward  o'er  the  Fast,  — 

Read  there  thy  country's  welfare,  —  bind  her  fast 


108  THE    FUTURE. 

Iii  loving  bonds  of  Union !  let  the  sun 
Of  Liberty  its  course  of  glory  run. 
Columbia!  —  My  loved  country,  rise  again 
From  thy  debasement !     Wash  away  the  stain 
That  sullies  the  bright  radiance  of  thy  face  ! 
Cursed  be  thy  sons  that  would  their  land  disgrace ! 
Still  may  thy  glorious  standard  float  unfurled, 
Ever  the  pride  and  glory  of  the  World ! 


TO    A    BUTTERFLY    AT    SEA. 


Now,  really,  it  seems  kind,  though  queer, 
That  you  should  call  to  see  me  here ! 

But  I  '11  address  you ; 
And  though  I  cannot  understand 
How  you  got  out  so  far  from  land,  — 
And  you  can 't  tell,  —  yet  there 's  my  hand,  • 

I  greet  and  bless  you  !  — 

But  should  as  soon  expect  to  see 
Moss-rose  buds  on  the  main-crosstree ; 

(Ah !  how  I  'd  pet  them !) 
Or  'round  about  the  capstan's  foot 
A  bed  of  violets  taking  root, 
And  telling  me,  although  they're  mute, 

Not  to  forget  them  !  — 


110  TO    A    BUTTERFLY    AT    SEA. 

Or  'neath  the  shadow  of  the  sail 
A  lily  rearing  up  her  pale 

And  lovely  face,  — 
As  on  the  ratlines  to  espy 
A  gay  and  brilliant  butterfly, 
Seeking  in  vain,  with  anxious  eye, 

One  flowery  place. 

'T  is  so  ;  but  if  you  've  no  objection 
To  stay,  rely  on  my  protection  ;  — 

For  you  're  to  me 

Suggestive  of  green  fields  and  flowers, 
Woodbine  and  honeysuckle  bowers, 
And  call  to  mind  delightful  hours,  — 
Of  which,  when  sadness  overpowers, 

I  think  at  sea. 


The  pantry  door  shall  ne'er  be  closed, 
And  not  a  wish  shall  be  opposed, 
If  you  '11  remain. 


TO    A    BUTTERFLY    AT    SEA.  Ill 

The  sugar-bowl  shall  yield  its  sweets, 
We  '11  give  you  some  luxurious  treats, 
And  ope  our  many  potted  meats, 
And  best  champagne. 

Go,  range  the  cabin  through  and  through, 
And  trust  me  when  I  swear  to  you,  — 

As  I  'm  a  sinner,  — 

That  should  the  steward  thwart  thy  wishes, 
I  '11  break  his  head  with  his  own  dishes, 
And  hurl  his  carcass  to  the  fishes, 

For  dinner, 

You  heed  me  not !  —  and  now  you  're  gone, 
To  tempt  the  mighty  deep  alone 

And  unprotected. 

No !     One  who  hears  the  raven's  cry, 
And  marks  each  sparrow  fall  and  die, 
Watches  o'er  all,  with  sleepless  eye,  — 
And  even  a  simple  butterfly 

Is  not  neglected. 


112  TO    A    BUTTERFLY    AT    SEA. 

And  he  the  rhymester,  who  to-day 
Has  wooed  you  in  an  idle  lay, 

Is  but  like  you  — 
A  wanderer  across  the  seas,  — 
And  dreams  away  these  days  of  ease, 
Entranced  with  idle  fantasies, 

Sweet,  though  untrue. 

And  though  to  serious  contemplation, 
And  calm  and  pious  meditation, 

Too  oft  a  stranger, 

Knows  that  the  strong,  protecting  arm 
That  can  subdue  the  fiercest  storm, 
Is  thrown  around  his  powerless  form, 

In  time  of  danger. 


A     000709993     o 


